Flat Character
by Delgodess
Summary: When I'd imagined falling into a fictional world, I'd imagined that I'd appear with some sort of edge. I'd never imagined I'd end up with nothing. A fiction written in short snippets.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of _The Batman_ franchise.**

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><p><em>To be a part of something greater, if only in your own mind.<em>

_(because everyone has entertained this thought, no matter how fleetingly.)_

_-Anonymous_

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><p>Gotham was a city. Like New York, London, Sidney. But it was also <em>more<em>. It was a place of extreme opposites; of bedtime heroes and waking nightmares. Its crimes were more violent, its fear: an actuality. Insanity cultivated by hopelessness. Like a mother who didn't care for its offspring, it left its residents destitute.

And then there was me. Child of white tipped mountains and thin, crisp air, I was cast into her filthy, unfeeling arms without warning; without cause.

I had nothing. Not even clothes on my back. The policeman had bluntly informed me that streaking was a punishable offence, neglecting to mention how dangerous it was to be naked in negative three degree weather. That I had been found buried in a snow drift, built up by days of snowplows, was left unsaid.

Unquestioned.

The station had been warm, the threadbare clothes ill-fitting and the paperwork unsympathetic. No one came for me. No one talked to me. After my fingerprints and photograph were taken (an unflattering mug-shot I would later discover), I was given a pen and a standard identification form. I filled it out to the best of my ability and handed it in to the officer at the front desk, struggling to get by the sudden rush of uniformed bodies that streamed though the front entrance. The secretary distractedly mentioned that the department would do a follow-up sometime in the next week, gesturing hurriedly at a bulletin board on the far wall. It was littered with cheep apartment listings, potential job opportunities and the addresses of a few homeless shelters who might take me in until I got my feet. Then I was shown the door.

The empty, ice encased steps looked treacherous, the freezing streets: bleak. Even the buildings overhead seemed to loom, dark with something I could not bear to name.

And though I could wax infinite poetic descriptions of the place I now found myself in, reality pushed aside shock long enough for me to _feel_ the cold wetness of the snow enveloping my ragged, miss-sized sneakers, _taste_ the sharp bite of the cold winter air and _hear_ what had caused the commotion in the GCPD.

_They'd caught Him._

_They'd caught The Batman._


	2. Chapter 2

The warmth of the building I'd just exited enveloped me once more, my body moving without conscious thought. Sound startled me, as if my world had been on mute. Phones rang, keyboards clicked and voices layered over each other in a confusing mess, each demanding news from static radios.

My ears picked out faint pieces; the startling puzzle that had woken me from my shock induced trance, slowly falling together.

_-Joker apprehended, fire in-_

_-e looks to be injured-_

_-Batman-_

_-'er closing-_

_-position-_

Tense muscles in my shoulders refused to relax. Information was inconclusive at this point. I moved again, drifting along as if I'm meant to be there, observing the chaotic jumble of the police station with new eyes. Almost no one was stationary, every person up in a flurry of anxious movement. I mingled with them, strides quick and purposeful as I twist, sidestep and slip my way around distracted officers.

I try to keep out of the way as much as possible, spotting a nearby bathroom along the next wall. Static sparks again, but I can't stop in the middle of the hallway; I need to reach the door before I'm seen.

_-ot him!-_

_-e's out cold-_

_-bringing him in-_

'What_ am I doing?_'

Hurrying into a stall and clicking the door shut doesn't bring me any relief. My heart pounds and I curl my cold hands to my chest; trying to fold them into the faded fabric of the brown hoodie I'd been given. My wet sneakers squeak against the linoleum floor. The air smells like piss. I swallow, but my mouth remains dry.

'_I can't go back out there! I can't-_!'

The bathroom door opens and a harsh voice barks out. "We got him!"

It's a man's.

Horror fills me as a younger one answers, skeptical. "Did we really? He's been pretty hard to catch so far…"

"Yeah! The boys just called it over the wire. They're bringing him here."

A zip and shifting fabric. Then a sigh as liquid trickles. I try to keep still, resisting the urge to hop up onto the toilet seat.

"How much longer?"

Another sigh. My breath sticks in my throat and I stare fixatedly at the horrid olive-green stall door.

"They said fifteen, ten minutes ago."

The sound of flushing and shuffling feet indicates their departure and I take a moment to suck in oxygen. Then I _move_. I don't look at the urinals on the wall out of principal- as if I need another reminder.

Ducking out is quick; darting behind a convenient file cabinet is quicker. My sight flickers over the restless faces revolving about the room. Then the two double doors directly across from me burst open. The eyes of the panting, disheveled officer standing in the threshold meet my gaze head on- and then slide away like water over ice.

I'm lucid enough to be disturbed by the twinge of unease that settles in my gut, but something is happening, something monumental and I can feel the greatness of it building in the room.

Time stops. And for one moment, my world crashes down on me because '_Good _God_, he's not real, he can't be, he's a _**Comic Book Hero**_._'

But three burly men are lifting Bruce Wayne, no, lifting _Batman_, dragging his unresponsive form around the raised walkway of the open spaced room. The tenants of the cubic offices down below suddenly grow silent, all eyes watching. The sudden absence of sound only enhances the Christmas music filtering in though someone's speakers, the noise like a macabre march.

I barely notice other people entering the room; too absorbed in shrinking into the wall when I realize that they're going to pass me.

There is a tremor in my limbs, an uncontrollable shaking as I finally, _finally_, grasp what all of this means; for myself and for Gotham.

They pass me, his worn, tattered cloak flapping limply. My hand reaches out almost on its own and - carefully, reverently- _I touch Him_. It's ridiculously unreal, but the Kevlar is rough, the belt, smooth. Then something whirls and there is the tiniest of clicks.

"Hey! What are you doing here?"

Flinching as if struck, my head whips up, blond hair obscuring my vision until its caught in the strikingly direct gaze of one who can only be a young James Gordon.

I bolt for the nearest exit.


End file.
